Ma Jian - Red Dust

When I reach Lhasa, Mo Yuan is already back from Guangzhou. There is a girl with thick plaits standing behind him. He hands me a parcel from Lingling, and makes it clear my presence is not welcome. So I go next door to Liu Ren and resolve to leave Tibet as soon as possible. Liu Ren says Mo Yuan and Dali have hardly left their room since they got back. I say it is understandable, I would not have disturbed him if I had known she was there.

I remember him saying before he left, ‘Last summer, Dali and I were standing at the back of a boat watching the waves break, and I felt a sudden longing to grab hold of her and jump into the sea. I’m so damn in love. .’

Dali has graduated from university now and has moved to Tibet to be with him.

‘Have you thought of transferring back to China?’ I ask Liu Ren. I am afraid he will agree to the vasectomy just to keep his job.

‘I am not as fancy-free as you. If someone pays for my food, I have to do as they say. I have a family to provide for. Anyway, I like Tibet.’

‘You’ve had the operation, haven’t you?’ I watch my twin’s face change.

‘Yes.’ He looks down, his nose twitching. ‘The cop just left,’ he says, changing the subject again.

‘Was he asking about me?’ Images of Beijing flit through my mind: police vans, housewives, the wind blowing through the lanes, heaps of cabbages drying on the roadside. I open Liu Ren’s jar of Sichuan pickles and pull out a small gherkin.

‘No. It was Tian Ge. The tall policeman with the Tibetan girlfriend who runs a snack stall. Don’t you remember? He gave you those confiscated photographs of the Dalai Lama. Well, he and Drolma are escaping to Nepal. I am worried though. He has taken a gun.’

‘They’ll be fine. I walked along that road last week. You can travel for days without seeing a soul. Maybe they will find a guide to take them across the mountains.’

In the evening, after returning from watching television in Liu Ren’s office, I sift through my pile of mail and finally find a letter from Wang Ping. It has travelled from America to Guangzhou to Lhasa. She says she is living in Chicago now and has already passed her driving test. I stop reading. I don’t want to know any more. I had no right to expect any commitment when I was unable to give it myself. I should feel happy for her — this is what she wanted. But I can’t just yet, because I had planned to travel to Hangzhou next week and tell her my mind is clear now, and I am ready to give her all my love.

Lingling’s parcel contains a bag of dried potato, a new notebook and a yellow filter for my camera. I had asked her to send the filter because a friend had given me three rolls of night film which I wanted to use in daylight. But I lost the film months ago when I fell into the Nu River. She says she will be a mother in September. She thinks it’s a boy.

Li Tao says he is taking Chun Mei to Jiuzhaigou next week and asks if we can meet up. I check the postmark and discover the letter is a month old.

Fan Cheng says Shenzhen is unbearably hot in summer and he is planning to spend his vacation in Beijing. Now that he has a respectable job and a good income he never talks of our plan to build a cattle ranch in Weichang. People are changing with the times. Everyone can see their paths. But society travels along an invisible road and no one can tell where it is going.

Hu Sha has taken a sabbatical from the Steelworks University and gone to Shenzhen to set up an editorial office for The New Era. He says it is much safer to publish it there. He is considering branching out into trade magazines.

It appears that Chen Hong is having an affair with him. She says she plans to transfer to Shenzhen: ‘I don’t want to practise medicine any more though. Hu Sha has introduced me to the director of a video company who wants an English speaker for his public relations department.’

Zhao Lan has sent me a blank introduction letter from the Federation of Trade Unions, and a wad of rice coupons. She tells me she is having an exhibition of watercolours at the American Embassy and asks if I could pop back to Beijing for the opening.

Meina, the Jinuo girl whose foot I healed in Xishuangbana, has sent me a thank-you letter. ‘Dear Dr Ma Jian from Beijing. Thank you for helping me. You are my favourite doctor. I hope you will continue to make great contributions to China’s Four Modernisations. Please visit me again when you are in Xishuangbana.’

As the bus pulls out of Lhasa, I take a last look at the Potala Palace. I never did go inside, because I knew that once I came out again, there would be nowhere left to go.

There are still many white mountains to cross, but I am on my way home. I am leaving the wilds and returning to the dirty crowds of the city. But I am not afraid of them any more. They cannot hurt me now. I have changed.

A young man sits down next to me. He clutches a bag on his lap and fixes his eyes on the road ahead. The skin behind his ear is stained with ingrained dust.

‘Where are you going?’ I ask.

‘To the Beijing Nationalities Institute,’ he mumbles shyly.

‘Beijing? You’re going to university? That’s wonderful! Beijing is a huge city. You will see many new things. Your life will change. I live there myself, in a small house on Nanxiao Lane. Number 53.’

Ma Jian was born in 1953 in Qingdao. He left China for Hong Kong soon after finishing the journey described in Red Dust , but moved to Europe when Hong Kong was handed over to China in 1997. He now lives in London.